Chapter 52
FIFTY-TWO
TRISTAN
This place is crawling with scumbags.
I scan the crowd from my position near the main staircase, separating the ones I've already mentally recorded from the new faces that need putting away.
Marchetti is holding court by the champagne tower, his laugh carrying across the deck like he didn't orchestrate the disappearance of three hundred women last year alone.
Becker lingers near the bar, nursing a whiskey with the dead eyes of a man who's done unspeakable things to children.
And somewhere in this crowd is Dashkov—the fucking pig I've been dying to get my hands on. After Calder, of course.
I heard he came here in a wheelchair. Fucking gold.
Scattered between them are the lieutenants, the financiers, the lawyers who make it all look legitimate on paper.
My fingers itch for a weapon.
I've been patient for so long, and now that we're nearing the end, I just want to kill all these motherfuckers.
Across the deck, a familiar face catches my eye.
Aaron is dressed like old money—charcoal suit, no tie, effortless taste and allure that makes people assume he inherited his life rather than earned it in blood and sweat.
His eyes sweep the room the same way mine do, cataloging, memorizing.
When his gaze lands on me, he bites his cheek, stopping himself from smiling. But it's all in his eyes.
It's good to see you too, buddy.
He dips his chin, then looks down toward the back of the boat.
My signal to head to the basement utility room.
I glance around, pretend to do another sweep. That's when I see Keira, standing ten feet away from me, trapped in conversation with the wife of some shipping magnate.
Dom walks by. He doesn't look at me, but he adjusts his earpiece.
He's heading down as well, which means I'm next.
I wait thirty seconds, then slip through the back toward the service entrance.
I descend two levels, past the engine room and the crew quarters, until I reach a door marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
Three taps.
The door swings open, and standing around a small table in a converted storage space are my friends.
No. They're family.
Cat looks up first. The blonde wig she's wearing brings back memories from when she worked at Blooms with Zoe. Who knew at the time she was such a fierce woman? Slitting the throats of powerful men and making it look like an accident. She's fucking badass. I hope Aaron reminds her of that daily.
"Took you long enough." Cat's smile breaks wide as she runs toward me, pulling me into a hug. "I was starting to think you'd snapped and we'd find Calder's head in a freezer somewhere."
"The night is young."
She scans my face, grimacing a little. "You look…"
"Like I've been edging myself on murder for three months? Because that's exactly what it's been."
"I was going to say ragey. But sure, let's go with that."
"Potato, psychopath." I shrug.
She nudges my shoulder, grinning despite herself. "How's the invisible bodyguard act holding up?"
"I've only killed one person who wasn't on the list, so I'd call it a success."
Her eyebrow arches. "Who?"
"Housekeeper. She called Keira a whore." I shrug. "Neck snapped beautifully. Very clean."
"Jesus, Tristan."
I probably shouldn't mention the tonic I slipped Dashkov.
"She was rude, Cat. I don't tolerate rude."
Aaron crosses the room in three strides and grabs me before I can brace myself. All the air leaves my lungs as he damn near cracks my ribs.
"Jesus Christ," he mutters against my shoulder. "You look like a fucking accountant."
"An accountant?" I shove him off. "I've killed eleven people this quarter. Accountants wish they had my numbers."
"The beard is tragic."
"The beard is Henri's. He's French. He's sensitive about it."
"Henri's dead."
My mouth pops open, appalled. "Even so, we've been through a lot together. Don't talk about him like that."
"He's lost it," Dom says, standing by the table.
"I never had it. You all just had lower expectations."
Aaron grips my shoulders, genuine concern buried under the bullshit. "Seriously. You good?"
"I've spent weeks watching a man who deserves to be skinned alive put his hands on the woman I love." I smile, and I know it doesn't reach my eyes. "I'm fucking spectacular."
"There he is." Aaron's grin turns sharp. "Thought the uniform might've softened you."
"The uniform's a costume. Underneath, I'm the same rich asshole you've always known. I do miss my suits, though."
Dom appears at my side and claps a hand on my back. "Weeks undercover with that sociopath. How the hell haven't you killed him yet? I wouldn't have lasted."
"Oh, I've killed him. Hundreds of times. In my head. Very creatively. I've got a whole ranking system. Current favorite involves a cheese grater and his eyelids."
Dom stares at me.
"Too much?"
"I'm just impressed you've shown restraint."
"I haven't. I've shown delayed gratification." I crack my neck. "Tonight, I collect."
"What about the self-control you're always bragging about?" Aaron asks.
"That was a rumor I started to seem stable. I'm not stable. I'm just patient." I flash him a grin. "And my patience officially expires at midnight."
Marco, Cat's right hand, shifts in the corner. He's dressed as a bodyguard for one of the network heads, with tattoos peeking from his collar and arms crossed over a chest the size of a refrigerator. The guy gets bigger every time I see him.
"Marco. You look like you could bench-press a sedan."
He doesn't smile—never does. Just nods once. "Barlowe."
"Still a man of few words. I respect the brand."
Silence.
"Fantastic catching up."
Cat walks toward the table in the center of the small room. "As much as I'm loving this moment for you all, we have work to do."
"My wife is always so giddy, isn't she?" Aaron says sarcastically, smirking at her.
I love the ease between them, even in moments like this. It makes me miss Keira.
"I'll be giddy when there are no more rapists and pedophiles on my boat." She gestures to the blueprints. "Gather round, boys. Let's run it one more time."
The plan is perfectly lethal. I love everything about it.
At 11:30, Cat—in her role as Caterina Mortelle, gracious hostess and mafia queen—will announce the start of the exclusive meeting for the network's leadership.
A private discussion about the division of routes, dispute settlements, and expansion into new territories. The real reason they're all here.
The key players will be escorted to the conference room on the lower deck. All seventeen of them, plus their guards and lawyers.
Once inside, the doors lock.
Dom controls the security systems from this room. The moment that lock engages, the yacht's communications go dark. No cell signal, no satellite, no radio. The captain disables the lifeboats. Marco will be inside the conference room, armed and waiting.
At midnight, Cat and Aaron walk in and reveal exactly who they are.
What happens next depends on how cooperative the network heads feel like being.
"Most of them will choose death," Aaron says matter-of-factly. "They know what cooperation means, and it would be worse than death."
"Either way, we have all their routes, names, and accounts already. We won't need them for information, so killing them will be fun." Cat claps her hands in excitement.
Dom pinches the bridge of his nose. "For fuck’s sake, not this again."
Cat scowls at him, sticking out her tongue. "Let me have my fun. You know these fuckers deserve it."
Aaron ignores them, eyes on me as he continues going over the plan. "By morning, the largest trafficking network in the Western Hemisphere loses its leadership."
"Where does Calder fit?"
"Calder thinks he's being brought in as a new transportation partner. He's been promised a special introduction to the inner circle at 12:15, after the main business concludes."
"Let me guess. The introduction isn't what he's expecting."
"He'll walk into that room expecting a handshake and a seat at the table." Satisfaction flickers across Cat's face. "Instead, he'll find seventeen dead or restrained men and us waiting for him."
"And then?"
"Then he's yours." Aaron gives me a sly grin. "We'll have him restrained and delivered to you by 12:30. Whatever you want to do to him, however long it takes."
Love the sound of that. I can't wait to hear the crunch of his bones. It'll be music to my ears.
"Keira's extraction?" I already know, but I need to hear it again, even just to quiet the noise in my head.
"We've arranged a wardrobe emergency for her, which will require immediate attention. One of our people will pull her away. Dom will meet her at the port-side service door and get her off this boat."
"She's out of here before Calder even enters that meeting room."
"Exactly. By the time he realizes something's wrong, she's already on her way to shore," Aaron confirms.
"And Hale?" I ask.
Cat touches her earpiece. "Zoe, status check."
A crackle, then Zoe's voice comes through, clear and calm: "Eyes reporting. Package is secure. Nanny did the nine p.m. check-in. He's asleep."
An immense weight immediately lifts off my chest, knowing Hale is safe and asleep far away from all of this.
"Once Keira's off the boat, Zoe grabs Hale from the hotel," Dom adds. "They rendezvous at the marina and head straight to the safe house in Connecticut. By the time you're done with Calder, your family will be waiting for you."
My family.
The words still sound so foreign, so unique. Something so sacred I know I have to protect with everything I have.
"The timeline is a bit tight," I say. "If anything shifts—"
"It won't. It needs to be tight because we want the element of surprise." Aaron grips my shoulder. "We've run ops like this before. Trust the plan. Trust us."
I nod. "You know I do."
The plan is solid. Every variable accounted for.
So why can't I shake the feeling that we're missing something?
I straighten, rolling the tension out of my shoulders. "Let's do this."
There's a weighted pause in the room, as if we're all holding our breath.
Then Dominik's voice breaks the silence. "After tonight, you get your happily ever after, Tristan. And you deserve every bit of it."
Something I never allowed myself to want, but am so desperately ready to have. I'm going to love them, protect them, give them everything I couldn't before.
For the rest of my life.
And forever after that.